London Bridges
by mmmspike
Summary: CHAPTER TEN FINALLY UP! WIP AU, Unbeknowngst to the Scooby gang, Spike and Buffy are a couple. But when Angelus shows up for revenge, what will they do to stop him? Spuffy fluff and flashbacks of Spike's past. R&R please!
1. Vampire Patrol

Timeframe: Takes place early season 5 AU; the Adam thing never happened. There's no Dawn, no Glory, and Joyce's brain isn't liquifying due to tumors. Oh, and the Initiative never disbanded. Yeehaw!  
  
Rating: R  
  
Pairing: S/B  
  
Feedback: It's my life's blood.  
  
Author's Note: Just a head's up to my past readers and the newbies out there, as well as a short summary of what 'London Bridges' is all about. All right, to those that had read my previous story, 'Musical Chairs', I have finally written the long awaited (short awaited? kinda awaited? long forgotten?) sequel that I promised I would do, as I left off on a bit of a cliffhanger. I just began working on it today, and am trying to write as fast as I can (minus school time and all that jazz). Anyway, I have actually plotted the thing this time, as opposed to my usual: "Hey, let's see, what the hell should I do next?" way of stratigizing that I have, and there's more Spuffy fluffies to come, although probably a little less fluff than last time around. This story features longer sections on Spike and his feelings, and a few flashbacks on his past (I don't know how many there will be or anything, just that they're going to be in there). To newbies: The reading of 'Musical Chairs' isn't really neccessary to enjoy and understand this story, but I'd recommend it so you can get a good amount of background info to work on. Basically, S/B are a couple, Spike is chipped, and Angelus and Dru are in town, somewhere, lurking. Read on and, if you want a summary as opposed to actually reading all 27 chappies, just drop me a line and I'll make sure to include it in the next author's note. Hope you enjoy.  
  
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"Ow!"  
  
The force of the kick sent Buffy flying backwards, slamming her directly into a massive oak tree.  
  
"I'm getting too old for this," she moaned, flipping on her feet in one fluid movement. Hands curled into fists and held in front of her face defensively, she circled her opponent, glaring at him, anticipating his next move. After about thirty seconds of waiting, the frustrated Slayer put her hands on her hips, looking very annoyed. "Are you going to attack, or what? I mean, I know you have the whole 'undead non-aging' thing going on, but some of us still wrinkle."  
  
The vampire lowered his fists, exasperated. "I was *planning* on it, Slayer, but it takes strategizing."  
  
Picking at her fingernails, she sighed. "Strategizing blategizing. It's late, I'm tired, just rush me already."  
  
As fast as lightning he was upon her, baring his fangs at her tender throat. Just as fast, however, she had flipped him to the ground, straddling him and pressing a stake to his chest.  
  
"Can't believe I fell for that daft 'tired' excuse," he groaned, frustrated at his own stupidity. Buffy lowered the stake to her side, grinning.  
  
"You'd be amazed how many times that's worked. Well, come to think of it, you probably wouldn't. Knowing the quality of vampires out there . . ." she mused.  
  
"Yeah," Spike agreed, "Seems like intelligence isn't really a factor in who you choose to turn nowadays."  
  
"That explains it," she exclaimed, "I always wondered why anyone could end up making *you*. Low standards and all . . . it makes sense."  
  
"Might explain why I'm so taken with you," he said teasingly.  
  
"So it has nothing to do with my stunning good looks and witty charm?" Buffy joked.  
  
"Err, luv? I think your charm is cutting off my circulation," he said, wiggling his legs underneath her.  
  
"Circulation? You don't have any blood flow," she scoffed, getting to her feet. Lowering a hand down, she shivered at the feel of Spike's cold palm next to hers. She watched, amused, as he stood up and hopped back and forth gingerly, as if testing his sealegs.  
  
"Think you broke something," the vampire said, shifting his weight back and forth.  
  
"Not yet," Buffy warned jokingly, before taking hold of his hand, entwining their fingers. "Thanks for training with me," she said, gazing up at him, "I really appreciate it. Sorry about the bad location, cemetery and all, but . . ." she trailed off, her voice tinged with guilt.  
  
"No need apologizing, luv," he said, "Doesn't bother me. Vampire, remember? I practically live - well, come to think of it, I *do* live here. Right over there, in fact," Spike pointed out a crypt a few blocks away.  
  
"It's not that," she said apologetically, "It's the . . . the me not telling anyone thing. About us. It's just that, I don't think that it's the right time, and we've only been together for a few weeks, and I really want everything to go perfectly and . . . you know what I mean?" Buffy finished, breathless from her long, rambling explanation.  
  
He chuckled softly. "Yeah, I know. You've nothing to worry about, pet. Telling your mates that your new honey is, well, *me* is gonna take a lot of guts. And your watcher . . ."  
  
Buffy snorted. "Giles. Can you just see the look on his face? The glasses cleaning involved?"  
  
"The scotch?" Spike interrupted. "If he turns to drink, you know who's fault it's gonna be, right?"  
  
"Yours," she said, "for making me fall for you and turning my life into an even bigger weird-fest . It's not fair."  
  
"Not my fault that you're a necrophiliac and I just happen to be the only dead bloke you know," he explained.  
  
"That's not -"  
  
"Let's look at your past relationships, shall we?" Spike said, reaching into his duster and pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, "One person. One very dead person: Angel."  
  
Buffy frowned, thinking. "Not *just* him. There was . . . the guy. From my old high school in L.A. James . . . Something. Smith? It might have been Smith."  
  
"Admit it Slayer, Peaches was the only real 'man' in your life, aside from demons and such, and he off and left. Then I come along, all undead and manly just like you like them . . . it was the only reasonable choice. I suppose you had Rupert," he pondered, "but I don't really see the two of you as a couple. Probably'd have a heart attack when you were -"  
  
"What about Xander," she interrupted before Spike could finish, "You forgot about him. We've been friends for about . . . ever."  
  
"Like I said," he continued, flicking his chrome-plated lighter, "only one real 'man'."  
  
She nudged the vampire in the side, giggling. "That's not nice."  
  
"C'mon, Buffy, you saw what he was wearing the other day. Fruity little Hawaiin number," Spike explained, taking a long draw from his cigarette, "You're telling me that anyone with an *ounce* of testosterone would be caught dead in that? I'm dead and I sure as hell wouldn't. He looked like some kind of . . . tropical Liberace."  
  
Snorting in laughter, Buffy pulled him out of the street and behind a tree, pushing him low to the ground and out of sight.  
  
"Right here, Slayer?" Spike asked teasingly, "Doesn't seem like the most private shagging grounds, but I'm up for it if you are."  
  
"Ssh!" she shushed, clamping her warm hand over his clammy lips, cutting him off. Inhaling sharply, she waited silent for a few moments, then pulled him to his feet with her. "I don't think they saw us," she said, relieved.  
  
"Who, the vampire police?" Spike asked sarcastically.  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes. "No, Will -"  
  
On his disbelieving look, she stopped herself. "I know it's not the vampire police, I just . . . it was Willow and Xander. They were heading towards the cemetery."  
  
"At night? Alone? They're not only asking for violent death, they're seeking it out."  
  
"They might have been looking for me," Buffy said, "I should probably go back and meet them there." She glanced over at Spike apologetically. "It's not that I don't want to spend time with you, it's just that it would look suspicious if I wasn't over there kicking undead ass. Chosen and all."  
  
"Yeah . . ." he trailed off, a worried look on his face, "Just be careful, pet. Don't want you breaking your leg again; last time with Dru it took nearly two weeks to heal."  
  
"Okay, Mom," Buffy's voice was filled with sarcasm but her eyes were tender, "I won't talk to strangers or cross the street by myself."  
  
"Don't mean to be a Giles, luv, I just . . . don't want to lose you."  
  
She smiled, getting on her tiptoes and kissing him gently. "You've got me, Spike. If I promise that I won't die tonight, will it make you feel better?"  
  
He tossed his cigarette to the ground, crushing it with one scuffed boot. "Come home alive, alright? Don't fancy the idea of you losing a limb or two, but any of you is better than . . . the alternative."  
  
"And on that cheery note, I've gotta run." Buffy gave him one last peck on the cheek before running towards the cemetery.  
  
Spike pressed his fingers against his face, smiling. 'I've got her . . .'  
  
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"Isn't that just precious?" Angelus drawled, a slight smile on his face, "The Slayer and the vampire, together again. How sweet."  
  
"As sweet as the snakes wriggling my hair," Drusilla said, her teary eyes narrowing, "My knight has faced the light but shall be turned to ash if he drinks from the pond."  
  
Angelus rolled his eyes, exasperated. He knew he shouldn't have brought her along, she was too emotional. And crazy. "It would be a shame for someone to break up the happy couple. A tragedy worthy of Shakespeare."  
  
She smiled wickedly, clapping her hands together in delight. "Can we, Daddy? Can we take the sinful whore and spoil her Sunday cakes?"  
  
He sighed heavily, rolling his eyes again. "That was the plan, Dru," he said, his frustration obvious. Honestly, he didn't understand why she couldn't wait for their plan; it was only a few weeks away. Women.  
  
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TBC . . .  
  
A/N: If you want to see more, just review and I'll write it. 


	2. Aquaman

Setting: Season 5 AU; read the first chapter and you'll find out the diffs. Also, I am not following the 'AtS' season timeline, so I can bring back Angelus whenever I please. So there.  
  
Disclaimers: Joss is a much, much better writer than I; ergo, he is not me. Err . . . I am not him. Um . . . I don't own this. Yeah, that's it.  
  
Rating: R later, PG-13 for now. Sorry for the abrupt rating change, but I figured this fic won't be R-rated for some time to come.  
  
Author's Note: Yay on feedback! One review makes all the difference to me, so here's some more of that fiction stuff. Hope you enjoy.  
  
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"Are you sure we should be doing this?"  
  
"Of course. What could go wrong?"  
  
Willow tugged down the sleeves of her sweater nervously, as if covering her hands would keep the rest of her safe. She chewed on her lower lip in worry, then glanced over at her companion, wondering to say that could change his mind about the precarious situation they were getting themselves into.  
  
"This whole situation stinks of wrong, Xander!" she squeaked out, "There's the wrong-ness of being bitten, and the wrong-ness of being turned, and . . . oh! There's always those little fun demons that hang around in cemeteries and, you know, -eat people-."  
  
Xander sighed, shoving his hands in the pockets of his oversized pants. "It's going to be fine, Wills. You're not going to be turned into some kind of demon mystery meat. Scout's honor."  
  
Willow frowned, thinking. "Xander, you were never a Boy Scout."  
  
"Fine, then; on Aquaman's honor."  
  
The Wiccan smiled slightly, extending one slender finger out towards her friend. "Pinky swear."  
  
He took one digit off of the stake he was holding and brought it out, wrapping it around her's. "I pinky swear on Aquaman's honor."  
  
A snorting chuckle brought them both to attention, and they spun around quickly to see a very amused vampire standing behind them.  
  
"Now *that* was lame," he said, "Aquaman's honor? You always were a loser, Harris."  
  
"Harris?" Willow questioned. Turning to Xander, she whispered: "How does he know your name?"  
  
"We went to school together," the vampire explained, "Don't look so shocked. I'm evil, of course I'm going to listen in on your conversation." He turned to Xander. "And, to your credit, that was very amusing, the superhero thing. Haven't seen something so pathetically funny since I was turned."  
  
Xander's face turned beet red in anger and humiliation. "You know what's really pathetic?" he shot back, "The fact that high school ended two years ago and you're *still* wearing your varsity jacket. Which, by the way, smells a little moldy . . . but, being dead and all, I guess you haven't really noticed. Bad smells kinda come with the territory."  
  
The vampire glared at him. "Hey, I was buried in this, man. It has sentimental value. I guess you're just pissed that the chess team didn't give out anything this cool, right?"  
  
Xander nodded his head emphatically. "Yeah, that must be it." He pretended to check his watch and yawned for added affect. "Hey, you're a 'big bad vampire'. Shouldn't you be attacking us right about now?"  
  
Willow, who had been silently observing the conversation, shoved her friend hard in the side. "Xander!" she said, "You promised that nothing bad would happen! Remember? Mystery meat, Aquaman's honor - did all of that mean nothing to you?! Just in case you forgot: dying tonight wasn't on my 'to do' list!"  
  
"Don't worry, Wills, I've got everything under control," he said under his breath, wrapping his fingers tightly around the stake in his palm and circling his foe.  
  
"Control?!" she shrieked, removing her own stake from her coat pocket, "you call one stake control? We're not Slayers, you know! You may be able to quip, but that doesn't mean that you can kick undead booty at the same time. That's Buffy's terrain."  
  
Xander sighed, exasperated at her lack of faith in him. "Everything's fine; we've staked vamps before, we can do it again. I think I've got the rythm down: kick, punch, say something witty, stake in heart, party at the Bronze. Simple."  
  
"Are we going to do this, or what?" the vampire asked, "All this talking has worked up my appetite." He turned to Willow, grinning wide. "I think I'll start with the little girl."  
  
Xander stood in front of her, his face grim and determined. "You gotta get through me first."  
  
"I was hoping you'd say that."  
  
The vampire lunged at him, fangs bared, ready to strike. Xander waited for him to get close enough before thrusting his fist out and landing a hard uppercut to the vamp's face, sending the demon reeling backwards. He shook the blow off, wiping off a small trickle of blood dripping from his nose. Growling, the vampire rushed him again, kicking Xander in the knee and sending him sprawling to the ground. Smiling, he bent over him, ready to bite down into his tender flesh. Willow, who had been watching the fight and waiting for an opportune moment, picked a large rock up from the ground and slammed it into the back of the vampire's skull, wincing at the sharp, cracking noise it made.  
  
"Getting my friends killed wasn't on my list either!" she said angrily.  
  
The demon spun around, woozy, and Willow slammed the stake into his chest, hoping that she would get lucky and would hit the right spot. The vampire froze for a second, staring at the wooden pole that was impaling him, before he exploded into ash.  
  
"Yay me!" Willow cheered, "How's that for 'little girl', you not so big bad creature of the night!"  
  
Xander groaned and she dropped to her knees, worry creasing her brow. "Xander! Are you all right?"  
  
"I'm fine," he said, sitting up and wincing at the pain radiating from his knee, "Did we win?"  
  
"We won big time!" she said, the jubilation returning to her voice, "I knocked him over the head with a rock and then jabbed him a good one! He was all 'poof' and "Oh, no, I underestimated the girl!" which, hello, people are always doing. I mean, just become I look innocent doesn't mean I am." She got to her feet and offered Xander a hand.  
  
"No one expects the Wicca-practicing red headed Jewish girl!" he said, rubbing his sore leg. "You did good, Wills. Score one for the white hats."  
  
"I couldn't have done it without your help, you know," she said, "Without your distraction, I would never have been able to sneak up on him like that!"  
  
"Like Lois Lane to your Superman . . . without the breasts."  
  
"I feel . . . rejuvinated!" Willow said, ignoring his comment, "I feel on top of the world, like I could do anything, like I could stake anything! Vampires beware," she said, posing in a silly fighting stance, "A new 'slayer's' in town!"  
  
"Hey guys, what's up?"  
  
Willow shrieked and spun around, pointing her stake at her opponent. Buffy's eyes widened and she put her hands up in a gesture of surrender, bemused. When Willow realized who it was, she dropped the weapon to her side, panting heavily.  
  
"God, don't do that!"  
  
Buffy dropped her hands back down, confused. "Don't do what? Say hello? Sorry for doing the convential greeting thing-y; I was trying to think up something more clever like: 'How're things in the cemetery? Dead quiet?' but that seemed too lame. So I settled for the usual."  
  
"No," Willow stammered, shaken, "It's . . . there was this vampire. He attacked us, all fangs and evil. We staked him but I'm still kinda edgy."  
  
"*We* didn't stake him, Wills," Xander said, "*you* staked him. I just laid on the railroad tracks and waited for you to save me."  
  
Willow turned to Buffy. "He helped," she whispered.  
  
The Slayer looked at the two of them, surprise and worry written on her face. "Are you all right? Nothing broken? Dislocated? Torn or bitten?"  
  
"I don't think so," Willow answered, "Not that I know of. I guess he could have bit me when I wasn't looking, with the vampiric speed and stuff, but it's unlikely."  
  
"Good, because I'm tired and really didn't want to have to deal with driving anyone to the hospital. Or staking any vampires. Or moving at all."  
  
"I can teach you how to patrol *and* not move at all at the same time," Xander said, smiling wryly, "It's a little something I call 'getting knocked on your ass'."  
  
"I'm pretty sure I've already mastered that technique," Buffy joked, "Remember the broken leg thing? Not exactly my most stellar Slayer moment."  
  
She began heading for the exit of the cemetery, her friends following close behind her. Sighing, she wiped her exhausted eyes, yawning. "What were you guys doing out here, anyway? I mean, it's not exactly Club Med."  
  
"We were looking for you," Xander explained, "We figured you'd still be patrolling."  
  
"We were bored," Willow chimed in, "There was nothing on TV . . . except for the usual trashy stuff. Jerry Springer."  
  
"It was a rerun," Xander complained. On his friends' looks, he stammered: "Not that I watch that show. It's filth. Disgusting."  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes, but then became serious, turning to Willow and Xander. "I know boredom sucks, but that doesn't mean you should go out and get yourselves killed."  
  
Her friends looked down at the dirt, embarrassed at their own stupidity. Finally, Willow piped up.  
  
"Buffy, when are you going to introduce us to your new boyfriend?"  
  
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TBC . . . 


	3. Finely Honed

Disclaimers: Not mine.  
  
Feedback: I thrive on it!  
  
Rating: PG-13 now, R later.  
  
Author's Note: Sorry for the lateness. I've been busy penning a season 6 BtVS script (not Spuffy, just a MotW) and have kinda been focusing my creative efforts there. I'll try to keep up with this one more regularly; it felt good to go back to conventional story-telling after the script. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =  
  
Angelus was bored.  
  
It wasn't the town so much; Sunnydale was not only teeming with nice, juicy people just ripe for the killing, but it was also located on a hellmouth. One location rarely had both of those attributes. If one was lucky enough to find a city that had been built right above the mouth of hell, the odds were that there weren't many living citizens left, and those that survived usually would move away after discovering the extreme amount of demonic activity. Sunnydale, however, was a unique little burg. The citizens of the town (which were in rather large supply) either had a death wish or were extremely stupid. It was most likely the latter, in Angelus' opinion. The problem wasn't even the Slayer, whose death he would enjoy immensely; but rather, his plan. It involved a large amount of waiting, and his patience was growing short.  
  
He didn't usually get so frustrated with the time it took to craft a plan, especially one as brilliant as such, but he found that with every second that ticked by his impatience grew. Angelus found himself bringing home victims to work out his anger at the fact that the Slayer was still living, taking greater pleasure in their torture than he ever had before. He had even found a few new techniques which he dedicated to memory, promising himself that he would use them on his ex when he finally had her in his grasp. Angelus had thought about moving things up a few weeks, but finally decided that the spur of the moment killing wasn't really his strong point. He remembered Spike's failure when he stormed Sunnydale High before the feast of St. Vigious, and carefully reconsidered.  
  
A wry smile formed on his lips at the thought of Dru's idiot childe. Angelus couldn't wait to get his revenge on the younger vampire; he owed him for the torture that Spike had put him through the last time he had seen him. Dru, for some reason, wanted to keep him alive; that is to say, as alive as a vampire can be. It didn't bother Angelus too much; there were many ways to torture someone without tearing off limbs and whatnot - his childe's madness was a fine example of such. Besides, Angelus had discovered that some of the best torture was not physical at all.  
  
The through of driving the insolent lad to the brinks of madness drew a chuckle from his lips, and he found for the first time in days that he didn't mind having to wait. His scheme would work best with much time to plan, think, and re-think ideas; if he could pull it off, a few more weeks would be child's play in the long run.  
  
All good things come to those who wait, after all.  
  
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Buffy froze in her tracks, her heart skipping several beats. 'Did I just hear what I thought?' she questioned herself.  
  
"What?" she managed to stutter, staring at Willow in shock. Surely her friend didn't know ...  
  
"You know, the guy you've been sneaking off to see every night?" Willow explained, grinning at her intuitiveness, "Your secret smooching partner?"  
  
Buffy blinked. "Sneaking? There was sneaking?"  
  
"There was definite sneakage," Willow said, but her grin wavered, "Wasn't there?"  
  
Buffy sighed inwardly. Willow didn't know, she suspected. 'I can deal with suspicion. I've dealt with it my entire life, and I can deal with it now. It's not like she has any proof.'  
  
"I don't remember sneaking off anywhere."  
  
Willow frowned. "But - the patrolling. You've been going, like, every night. And you don't usually have so much fun making vamps all dusty."  
  
"Yeah," Xander agreed, "And when you do go, you usually whine about it for a while first."  
  
The Spike situation momentarily forgotten, Buffy became indignant at his accusation. "Hey! I do not whine!"  
  
"That's it, right there, the whine." Xander smiled as if to brush his comment off, but it managed to cause Buffy to become even more upset.  
  
"Willow, do I whine?" Buffy said, then cringed at her whiny tone of voice. 'Jeez, Fran Drescher much?'  
  
The Wiccan glanced at both her and Xander, before smiling apologetically. "Not anymore." Buffy scowled at her, and Willow continued on quickly, hoping to quell her friend's growing anger. "But that's not the point. The point is: patrolling. Why are you suddenly so much of the liking it?"  
  
Buffy frowned, searching her mental banks for a reasonable explanation. "I don't like it," she answered finally, "I just - I figured after the whole Drusilla fiasco, hey, why not tune up the Slayerness? And as they say, practice makes perfect." She paused, thinking. "Who's 'they', anyway. I mean, the people that always make up those sayings? Because they must have a lot of time on their hands."  
  
"I don't think it's a whole committee of people," Willow explained, her brow scrunched in thought.  
  
"Maybe it's one guy," Xander joked, "One guy named 'They'."  
  
Willow and Buffy both turned to look at him, before presenting him with simultanious eye-rolls.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Cute, Xander," Buffy said, continuing up the path.  
  
"It was funny," he said to himself, "I can't help it if you don't have a finely-honed sense of humor like I do."  
  
"Now who's whining?" Buffy muttered under her breath, causing Xander to stop in his tracks.  
  
"What was that?" he said, eyebrows raised in accusation.  
  
Buffy smiled sweetly at him, as if to convince him that she was, as all girls are told to be, sugar and spice and everything nice. "I don't know what you're talking about. Maybe your ears need some fine-honing, too."  
  
"Oh, I'll fine-hone you," Xander grumbled. Both of the girls began to laugh, and he looked up at them in surprise. "What's so funny?"  
  
"I'll 'fine-hone' you?" Buffy gasped out between chuckles, "What kind of lame threat was that?"  
  
"Yeah. Can't you just imagine it?" Willow joined in, "If you don't eat your vegetables, I'll 'fine-hone' you a new one!"  
  
Both girls laughed even harder at this, as Xander stood behind them, scowling. Finally, their laughter trailing off into giggles, Buffy turned to Xander, smiling. "Oh, come on. That wasn't even a little funny? I'm trying to get up to your honing level of humor, so help me out here."  
  
Willow grinned. "Xander, it's not our fault that you haven't honed your threatening ability. You can't just throw in random words and think they'll be menacing."  
  
"I can be menacing," Xander said, "I just don't allow myself to cross over into my dark side, that's all."  
  
"You have a dark side?" Willow queried, her voice tinged with humor.  
  
"Well, it's more of a light gray," Xander mused, before his voice took on a deeper tone, "But it's there. And it's just waiting, waiting for the day that I let it out."  
  
"I pray that never happens," Buffy piped up, "Because, God help us, you'd hone us all!"  
  
Willow and Buffy dissolved into a fit of giggles, and Xander continued up the path until they were forced to follow.  
  
"Buffy?" Willow asked, her voice hopeful, "You're patrolling a lot now, right?"  
  
"Uh, yeah, Wills. But I kinda thought we already established that."  
  
Willow smiled. "Well, yeah. But I was wondering . . . can I go with you next time?" The Wiccan gave a small yip as Xander elbowed her in the side. "Oh, yeah, and Mr. Jabby here wants to come, too. But . . . can we? I mean, it's like we never see you anymore. You're out galavanting with the undead every night, and we don't have any classes together . . ."  
  
Buffy felt a sharp pang of guilt at her friend's words. 'It's true, it seems like I haven't talked with them in weeks.' "Uh, sure . . . why not. Plenty of vamps to go around."  
  
Xander grinned, and Willow's eyes brightened. Buffy, however, was filled with worry. 'I need to find Spike and tell him that training for tommorrow is off. It would just be too weird if he showed up when Xander and Willow were there. Weird and suspicious.'  
  
The Slayer gazed up into the dark night sky and prayed that she would be able to find Spike.  
  
'God knows where he gets off to at this time of night.'  
  
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To be continued . . .  
  
A/N: Curious as to where Spike gets off to that time of night? Find out in the next installment, arriving shortly! 


	4. Contradictions

Disclaimers: I wish I may, I wish I might . . . but I still won't own Buffy. So don't be sue-happy, please.  
  
Feedback: Si vous plait!  
  
Author's Note: Jeez, I've really grown accustomed to doing this every chapter. So I might as well keep it up even when I don't have something to say (it's my theory that people actually read these and deem me funny - or maybe I'm the only one that amuses myself). Hope you like this chapter; I'm taking valuable loafing time to bring it to you . . . then again, maybe this writing is a good thing. It forces me to get up and type, as opposed to lying around eating cheez-whiz all day and becoming 900 pounds. I couldn't afford it (I've heard that piano-case coffins are steadily rising in price! I suppose they're more in demand than ever before . . .). Thank you, creative muse!  
  
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The air in the room was thick with anticipation and cigarette smoke, as the men sitting at the table glanced over at one another distrustfully. Each one was hunched over his cards as if they were priceless, darting a glance over at the surrounding players with unease. Spike leaned back against his chair, hiding a slight grin and trying to keep his poker-face. Not that those he was playing against were the smartest in the world, or perhaps even in Sunnydale, but they wouldn't be fooled if he grinned every time he had a winning hand. But it was very, very difficult to keep himself from mocking them, throwing his luck in their faces. It was growing harder by the second.  
  
"I see your tabby and raise you one Siamese."  
  
The large-pawed demon on Spike's right finally spoke up, grabbing two kittens from the basket next to him and placing them on the table with surprising care. He glanced over at Spike nervously, a small trickle of sweat running down his red face and coming to a stop on his chin.  
  
Spike glanced down at his cards, pretending to study them, furrowing his brow. After a dramatic pause, he spoke. "I see your Siamese and raise you two calico."  
  
A hushed murmur swept throughout the room, and several sets of worried eyes were now focused on him. Spike supposed that they were trying to read his face, hoping to catch a glimpse of a bluff in his eyes. Or maybe, he thought idly, they were trying to read his mind. He raised his eyes from his hand to catch the gaze of a small Katroth demon that had been staring at him. The Katroth glanced away quickly, his beady weasel eyes focusing on a spot on the wall that had suddenly become fascinating. Spike felt an urge to grin smugly, but suppressed it.  
  
'Still got it,' he thought, glancing down at his black-lacquered nails.  
  
The red demon (a Tyagrlemen, if Spike's memory was correct) was now sweating even more profusely, large droplets of opaque-blue running down his forehead and sliding down his neck. He tugged at the neckline of his sweat shirt nervously, causing a small rip to form in the fabric. The Tyagrlemen glanced down at it, embarrassed, and dropped his hands to his sides once more. Apparently it wasn't the first time he had broken something accidentally.  
  
Spike moved his eyes to the Tyagrlemen, staring at him defiantly, daring him to up the ante. The demon glanced up and saw his opponent's stare. He shifted in his seat, anxiously trying to avoid the piercing gaze.  
  
Spike raised one eyebrow, and the Tyagrlemen gave a startled jump, his nerves clearly on edge. Finally, he threw his cards down in defeat.  
  
"I give up!" he cried, banging his fists down on the table in anger, "I can't take it anymore! You win, alright? Just take your fucking kittens!"  
  
He pushed the mewling cats at Spike, who gathered them into his arms eagerly. Spike pulled the kittens up in handfulls, placing them into the large wicker basket next to him. The Tyagrlemen glared at him with distrust, eyeing the kittens angrily.  
  
"That's nine times in a row, Spike," he growled out, eyes narrowed into little slits, "Nine times and twenty of my kittens."  
  
Spike secured a blanket over the animals before turning his attention to the pissed-off demon who's bad temper was flaring up. "It's called luck. I can't help it that yours is really lousy."  
  
"Luck? That's too damn lucky," the Sharpletling demon to his right said, voice high-pitched and upset, "No one is that good at poker. Not even you, Spike."  
  
"Hey, guys, no need to get upset," Clem piped up, his flabby features scrunched in disquiet, "It's just a lucky streak. You'll win your kittens back."  
  
"Yeah, I will." The Tyagrlemen demon stood, his massive 8'5 frame dwarfing everything around him. "I'll get them back right now."  
  
Spike joined suit, pushing the chair back and rising to his feet, hands curled into fists and held in front of him in a fighting stance. "I'd like to see you try."  
  
The Tyagrlemen grinned in response, his own massive hands curling into fists. "Then I guess today's your lucky day."  
  
The demon advanced on Spike, picking up the poker table and flinging it against the wall. Spike eyed him warily, his adrenaline pumping and his senses suddenly heightened. Suddenly a demon from the main bar ran into the room, his one eye wide and alarmed.  
  
"The Slayer!" he cried, arms flailing wildly, "She's coming!"  
  
The demons in the poker room glanced around at one another before bolting for the door, pushing and clawing at the exit. The Tyagrlemen remained, however, and continued to circle around him.  
  
Spike grinned wickedly, slipping into game-face, amber eyes flashing. It had been too long, he decided, much too long since he had had a good spot of violence. He had some serious catching up to do.  
  
"Aren't you going to go with the rest of your mates?" Spike queried, smiling all the while. The Tyagrlemen glared at him.  
  
"I will. Right after I kill you."  
  
With that, the Tyagrlemen leapt at him, going for the element of surprise. Spike, however, saw it coming from a mile away, and grabbed the demon's huge red arms with his hands, flipping him over his back. He fell to the ground with a loud thud, laying completely still, dazed. Spike took this opportunity to grab one of the fallen metal chairs and slam it over the Tyagrlemens head, relishing the sweet clanging noise it made when it connected with his skull. He then pounced on the Tyagrlemen, smashing it in the face with his fists, laughing jovially.  
  
"Already dead, you stupid sod!" Spike exclaimed, continuing his assault, "And I wasn't even cheating this time; you're just a blood lousy poker player."  
  
The Tyagrlemen moaned and gurgled through his bloody mouth, then finally went silent, his arms falling limply to the floor. Spike threw in a few more punches for good measure before getting to his feet, grinning at his handiwork. "Now that is one good looking --"  
  
A gasp from across the room brought an end to his monologue, and Spike spun around to face the intruder. "Buffy!" He exclaimed, staring at the shocked Slayer, "You're here. Why are you here?"  
  
Buffy stared at the remains of the demon, her face pale. "I didn't - I - what - what happened?"  
  
Spike walked over to her, smiling evilly. "Bloody wanker underestimated me, that's what happened. Didn't expect the Big Bad."  
  
Buffy turned her gaze to him and, for the first time, noticed the blood streaking his face and arms. "Oh my God, are you okay?!" She ran her fingers over his chest, checking for wounds. Spike smiled at her worried expression, slipping back into his human visage. He wiped the blood from his lips before bending down and kissing her deeply, exploring her mouth with his cool tongue. Buffy arched into his grip, before pulling away and inhaling sharply.  
  
"Does that answer your question?" Spike replied cockily, slipping his hands into his duster and searching for a pack of cigarettes. Buffy smiled lazily.  
  
"Well, I know your lips are intact. But what about the rest of you?" She asked, her fears still not completely qualmed.  
  
"If you want," Spike said, taking a single smoke from the pack and putting it to his lips, "I could give you a private showing later." He punctuated the statement with a lewd raising of his eyebrows.  
  
Buffy snorted a laugh. "I might have to take you up on that," she answered coyly, "But not tonight. Or tomorrow."  
  
Spike, who had been flicking his lighter, stopped. "Why not tomorrow?"  
  
"That's what I'm here for," she explained, smiling weakly, "I can't train with you tomorrow. Or, rather, you can't train with me. I have to patrol."  
  
"Let me guess? The vampire'll slow you down?" He flicked the lighter once more and it lit up brightly. Spike brought the flame to his cigarette, waiting until it caught before inhaling the smoke deeply.  
  
"Nothing like that," she said, her voice tinged with regret, "Willow and Xander want to go patrolling with me; they were feeling kinda left out. So tomorrow's kinda 'Bring Your Friends to Work Day'. But, if it makes you feel any better, I'd rather be out with you."  
  
"Or so you say," Spike pouted, taking another drag from the cigarette, "I see how it really is. It's just one big conspiracy to get rid of me, right?"  
  
Buffy smiled. "Since when have you believed in conspiracies?"  
  
He arched an eyebrow and pointed to his head. "Since *this* happened."  
  
"Okay, stupid question," she scolded herself, taking hold of one of his hands and smiling, "But since I can't be with you tomorrow, I don't see the harm in spending a few more hours together tonight. I mean, it's just making up for time missed, right?"  
  
Spike grinned in response, entwining his fingers with hers. "No faulty logic there, pet."  
  
Holding her hand tightly, they stepped over the massive body of the fallen Tyagrlemen demon and out into the night. Gazing up into the black sky, Spike's poetic side couldn't help but think that the stars had never shown brighter before, even as his demon side recoiled in disgust at the saccharine thought. It didn't matter to him, however. Nothing else mattered except being with Buffy, his Slayer.  
  
'When I'm with her, everything else melts away. And *that's* the truth.'  
  
His demon, for the first time in it's existence, did not try to contradict him.  
  
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TBC . . . 


	5. Spike Tested, Mother Approved

Disclaimers: None of this is mine. None of it!  
  
Feedback: Please.  
  
Author's Note: Here's the next chap. Hope you enjoy!  
  
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The crypt stood stoically in the graveyard, its cracked, weather-beaten cement exterior forboding despite its age. A single red rose grew to one side of it, as if daring the night with its flaming petals that spoke of life. A sharp wind blew, tossing tree limbs to and fro and pressing weeds that poked haphazardly from between the tombstones even lower to the ground. Yet in all this, the crypt stood, a gray, hard block, impervious to nature's violent urges. Inside, however, was a different matter.  
  
Grunting with effort, Spike heaved the demon against the wall. The massive, four hundred pound body rattled the crypt, and the cement wall cracked under the pressure. The demon slumped to the ground limply. Watching with a wary eye, Spike approached the fallen form, taking note of the demon's shallow breathing and the small trickle of blood seeping from its ear. After deciding that it was, in fact, unconscious, Spike smiled with self-satisfaction. He grabbed a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and placed one between his lips. Delving back into his pants, his fingers fumbled around until they met the cool metal of the lighter. Spike lifted it, flicked it once, and put the small orange flame to the cigarette.  
  
Inhaling deeply, he sighed, happy that he had discovered the unexpected visitor. He couldn't go out patrolling with Buffy, and he had been cautious of patrolling alone. What if he accidently bumped into her and her little Slayer fan club? Running into her, being so close yet having to leave with ne'er a word; he wasn't sure he could handle it. The sharp, clean soapy fragrance of her skin, combined with the musky perspiration of battle and (more often than not) the intermingling scent of desire - desire for him - would be too much to bear. So Spike had decided to settle for a night in his crypt alone, and promised himself that he would make up for the excrutiating boredom later. He hadn't, however, been expecting this.  
  
His thoughts turning back to the demon, he smirked once more, before drawing his foot back and landing a sharp blow to the creature's head. It grunted in its unconscious state, placing one massive paw in front of its face to shield itself. Spike just settled for kicking its stomach, raising and lower his foot swiftly, grinning at the sharp crack of the demon's ribs as they shattered.  
  
"Break into my crypt, will you?" he taunted the demon, kicking it, "Come here and try to kill me? Do you know who you're dealing with?"  
  
The creature moaned in response; if he had heard a word Spike had said, he didn't give any indication of such. Spike, choosing to take this silence as insubordination, continued to mash its midsection with his foot.  
  
"I'm. William. The. Fucking. Bloody!" He accentuated each word with a blow to the chest. The demon rolled over from the force of Spike's hits, his eyes wide open, bloody drool dribbling from one corner of his mouth and his tongue lolling out humorously. Nudging the corpse with his boot, Spike took another drag from the cigarette and leaned closely to the demon, as if he were speaking to him in confidence. He exhaled thick smoke into the creature's face, and smiled.  
  
"And don't you sodding forget it."  
  
Spike's ears perked up and he swung around as he heard a soft rumbling sound from the entranceway to his crypt; someone was opening the door. He grinned despite his underlying fear that maybe the demon he had just killed - no, destroyed - had brethren that had traced him back to the crypt, that had followed the scent of its blood. He moved quickly, making use of the shadows and crouching to one side of the entrance. When the door swung open, the intruder wouldn't notice him, and he could get a surprise attack in. He found that the one that got the first blood was most often the winner of a battle, and he wasn't used to losing.  
  
His hands moving with a fluid grace, he retrieved a sword that had been lying near the door, which he had been meaning to put away for some time. But for the first time, it seemed his lousy housekeeping was working in his favor. After a moment's hesitation, the door opened widely, and Spike stepped from the shadows to meet his opponent. Swinging the sword adeptly, he didn't have time to stop the blade before it came rushing at the petite blonde that had just entered.  
  
Buffy smiled at Spike, then noticed the sword, its gilded edge whizzing towards her with a deadly hum. Yelping in surprise, she ducked from the weapon, moving just in time to avoid the pain of a steel blade being embedded in her neck. In his shock, Spike's hands lost their grip, and the sword landed against the wall dully, dropping to the floor with a clang. Spike stared at her with wide, shocked eyes.  
  
"Oh, God, Slayer! I - are you okay?" His voice was tinged with worry and upset. Buffy smiled at him weakly and bent down to retrieve the fallen weapon. Running a finger over the razor-sharp edge, she flinched and withdrew her hand as the tip sliced into her.  
  
"Fine," she said, "A little surprised at your greeting. I mean, I thought: okay, maybe a hug or something. But a sword flying at me? Not really your usual how do you do."  
  
"I didn't know it was you, I swear. I thought it was a demon, or -"  
  
"Spike. It's okay, calm yourself. You didn't kill me, I'm still here. Hell, if I can scold you about attacking me, I must be up to form, right?" She grinned and handed him the sword. "The only harm that's come to me is self-inflicted."  
  
Buffy studied the deep cut the sword had created, wincing at the copious amounts of blood bubbling from it. "Geez," she said, looking disdainfully at the crimson drops beginning to puddle on the floor, "I'm like a human geyser. I should have my own national park or something. I could be called Old . . . Buffy," she mused, "Or maybe Old Young Buffy. That has a ring to it, don't you think?"  
  
She glanced up at Spike to see him staring at her finger intensely, scrutinizing the cut. Buffy squirmed under his gaze. "Okay, I'm starting to feel like the blue plate special, here."  
  
Spike tore his eyes from her wound and gazed up at her, concern creasing his face. "You're bleeding."  
  
Buffy worried the sleeve of her sweater, tugging it over her hand. "No big. Just another trophy on the Buffy Wall of Stupidity. Note to self: swords are pointy."  
  
He moved towards her, taking her hand in his gently and yanking back the soft material of her sleeve to examine the cut. Rolling her eyes, Buffy stood while he looked at it. Finally she pulled back, exasperated yet somewhat touched at his overly worried expression. "Geez, it's not that bad. Just need a Band-Aid and a little TLC. And I already have a Band-Aid . . ." She finished, leering suggestively. Spike took one last glance at her hand and then looked up, his eyes sparkling with mischief and a lewd grin plastered on his face.  
  
"I don't know, pet. I can give you the L and the C, but I don't know if I can be tender," he growled, taking her wounded finger and lifting it to his mouth, swirling his cool tongue around the cut.  
  
Buffy sighed with pleasure, surprised at her reaction to his ministrations. She would have thought she'd have been majorally icked by the idea of a vamp feasting on her blood in such a fashion, but this was different. He was her vampire. And the cold wetness against her stifling heat felt wonderful.  
  
Finally he pulled away with a sweet, almost innocent smile. "God, love, you taste magnificent," he purred, pressing his lips to hers. Buffy could taste the coppery tang of her blood on him, and it aroused her more than it should have. After a few minutes she withdrew, panting heavily with excitement as much as from lack of oxygen.  
  
"Well, that was definitely -" she stopped when something in the back of the room caught her eye. Buffy glanced at it and recoiled when she recognized the figure to be a demon's corpse, brutally smashed and lying in a pool of its own coagulating blood.  
  
"Eww!" she said, wrinkling her nose in disgust, "Has that been here the whole time?"  
  
Spike flicked his eyes over to the demon and back to her. "No, it just walked in here and died while we were talking," his voice was heavily sarcastic, "Of course it's been here! Wanker snuck in while I was sleeping. Attacked me."  
  
"Is it just me, or is it every time I see you, some demon is trying to kill you?" Buffy wondered aloud.  
  
"It's not just you, pet. Most demons hate me - must be something about 'killing your own kind' and all that rubbish," he sighed and picked his duster up from the chair it had been resting on, slipping it over his broad shoulders, "But you don't see them going after Peaches, though, do you? And he's worse than me - responsible for almost wiping out the Klintock race! Not that I hold a grudge 'cause of it; they're some real nasty buggers, y'know? But they should at least know who their true enemy is." He gazed over at her. "Speaking of enemies, why are you here? Thought you were out making friendlies with the children."  
  
"If you meant did I go patrolling, the answer is yes," she said, "But Xander got injured and Willow saw him home."  
  
"Injured? Injured how?"  
  
Buffy suppressed a smile as she saw the worry on his face. She knew he didn't care a lick for Xander; he only cared because she did. It was sweet. "He - he fell," she finally admitted, embarrassed for Xander's sake, "He went to stake a vamp and tripped over a tombstone."  
  
Spike's eyebrows rose in surprise, and he attempted to keep in his mocking laughter. Finally he could not take it, and burst out laughing. "The - he tripped? Over a headstone?"  
  
Buffy's stern expression wavered, and she finally snorted in laughter as well. "Yeah, he was trying to kill - you should have seen the look on his face! It was - I -" She let out a stream of giggles, doubling over and clutching her aching stomach. Wiping tears from her eyes, Buffy cleared her throat and attempted to get serious. "And you wonder why I want to go patrolling with you so often."  
  
"Never said I wondered, love. Always figured that I was better company," he said, his voice filled with pride.  
  
"More obnoxious doesn't always mean better," she stated, smiling, "Although you do come in handy from time to time. That is, when you're not trying to chop my head off." He winced at her remark and she instantly felt bad. "Look," she said, changing the subject, "I just came here to see how you're doing. And to tell you that I'm free for patrolling tomorrow, if you'd like to join me. Seeing as Xander's . . . out of commission and all."  
  
He chose to ignore that last remark, and grinned. "Patrolling it is, then. You want me to bring my sword?"  
  
"No, that's okay. I want you to be killing the baddies, not me. Eight o' clock sound good to you? It's the prime slaying hour."  
  
"Eight it is," Spike confirmed, then raised one eyebrow suggestively, "And then maybe you can stop over for some RLC afterwards."  
  
Buffy scrunched her brow, confused at the last statement, but smiled at him before heading towards the door. "All right, then, I'll see you tomorrow. Be good; well, as good as you can be. Semi-evil, maybe."  
  
He chuckled before wrapping his arms around her and drawing her into a sweet embrace. Buffy leaned her head against his chest for a moment, lost in the overwhelming scent of him. He pulled away and planted a gentle, chaste kiss on her lips.  
  
"'Till tomorrow, then," he whispered huskily, opening the door for her as she slipped from the musty crypt and out into the night.  
  
Gazing up at the stars, Buffy pulled her arms around herself and sighed contentedly. Things were perfect . . . well, nearly perfect. Nobody knew about her and Spike yet, but that made it almost better, in a way. Naughtier, if you will, because he was her secret, and she supposed that she was his as well. 'My torrid love affair with a vampire,' she thought, 'that sounds like a dime store romance novel. But I'm living it. And who would have known that Spike could be so - wow. And that thing, with his tongue? Heaven.'  
  
She sighed again, coming to a fork in the road and turning left, towards her house. 'But what did he mean by RLC? What the hell does the R -' In a flash Buffy remembered Spike's words, realized what he had been getting at, and giggled.  
  
'Rough loving care, huh?' she thought, 'I just might have to take him up on that.'  
  
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To be continued . . . 


	6. Underworld Trading

Disclaimers: I don't own this, Joss does. Lucky bastard.  
  
Feedback: Yeesh. Write a sequel everyone asks for and barely anyone reads it. Ahh, the irony of it all.  
  
Author's Note: Here's the next segment; more about Angelus, Dru, and Spike. Enjoy!  
  
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"I have what you requested."  
  
The figure was large, menacing, and dangerously muscular. A black cloak was draped over his massive frame, billowing slightly from the breeze, the fabric pulling back to reveal a hint of a black, furry underbelly. Clutching a small package wrapped in plain, brown paper, he stood, ancient and foreboding.  
  
He lifted the miniscule box in his hands and held it out in front of him. The vampire plucked the package from his grip, put it up to his ear, and shook it. The demon's eyes grew big, and he reached out to put his hand on Angelus' arm in an attempt to get him to stop.  
  
"Wait, no, don't shake it!"  
  
Angelus glanced at the hand then back to the massive, furred face. He grinned. "What can I say? I'm giddy with anticipation. I just can't stand to wait." He reached out and took the demon's arm, twisting it sharply. The demon cried out in pain as the bone snapped, a loud popping noise resounding throughout the room. Angelus, ever smiling, dropped the limp arm, which was now bent at a very unappealing angle. "You almost touched the leather," he chided, as if it were a quite reasonable explanation for breaking the demon's arm.  
  
The demon watched Angelus with narrowed eyes, in a great deal of pain as well as anger. Cautiously he broached the vampire again, making sure to keep his limbs well away from the vicious creatures grasp. "About my payment -"  
  
"Oh, yes," Angelus said, "Couldn't forget that, now could we?" He passed the package to Drusilla, who was standing to his side, watching the encounter with a large, giddy smile plastered on her face.  
  
"Ooh, Daddy," she cooed, "Can I open it?"  
  
"Not now, Dru," he scolded, "I'm doing business, here. When I'm done with Furby here, we'll open it together, okay?"  
  
She gave a small frown and released the bit of twine that she had been grasping between her fingers. Angelus watched her do this and, with a satisfied smile, bent down to retrieve the demon's payment. A small baby was cradled in the vampire's arms, and the demon smiled, a low growl sounding in the back of his throat. He was very hungry.  
  
The demon reached out for the baby, warm drool leaking from the corner of his mouth, but Angelus pulled it just out of reach, grinning at the demon's eagerness. "Ah, ah, ah," he tsked, "How do I know that you gave me what I asked for? You wouldn't happen to be lying to me, would you?"  
  
"No, no, not at all!" the demon stuttered, "You can open it now! I delivered, like I said. Now it's your turn to keep up your end of the bargain."  
  
Angelus looked at the baby, then the demon, and thought for a moment, as if considering what he should do. "Aww, look at that face," he said, mockingly, "I know you could never lie to me. Here's ya go." He tossed the baby to the demon, who flailed wildly and caught the screaming infant with his good arm right before it hit the ground. Panting the demon glared up at Angelus, who grinned in return.  
  
"Nice catch, there, buddy. Ever consider going out for football?"  
  
The demon narrowed his eyes, but turned his gaze back to the screaming baby. He licked his lips, gave one last passing glance at the two vampires, then turned to leave. He headed for the exit, but was stopped by a finger tapping on his shoulder.  
  
"One more thing."  
  
Angelus' voice sounded behind him, and the demon spun around, angry. He disliked this creature greatly, was very hungry, and did not wish to deal with him any more. If he took too long, his meal would go cold.  
  
"What is it, vampire?" he growled, baring his teeth. In one fluid motion, Angelus had his hands wrapped around the demon's head, and, before it knew what had happened, the vampire had snapped its neck. In the split second before his death, the demon reminded himself never to deal in underworld trades again. They almost always ended up badly.  
  
The limp body dropped to the floor, and Angelus caught the infant before it could fall to the cold, dirt floor beneath them. In a flash he was in his game face, had leaned over the squirming infant, and plunged his fangs deep into its neck. After a few minutes of feeding, Angelus tossed the tiny body to the ground. With a sadistic smile, he turned back to the Drusilla, who was busy swaying and humming to herself, the package in her hands long forgotten.  
  
"And that's how it's done," he said, his voice filled with egotistic pride. He walked over to Dru and took the box from her hands, sliding his fingers over it. "This is it."  
  
She looked up at him, then down at the package, and smiled sweetly. "Can we open it now? Pretty please? The paper is making my insides sing."  
  
Slipping a finger under the thin twine, Angelus snapped it with as much ease as he had the demon's bones. He passed the box to Dru, who was hopping up and down and clapping like a child. "Don't drop it," he warned her, steadying her hands around it. She frowned again, bringing it up to her ear.  
  
"I can hear the sea," she whispered to herself, her eyes growing wide, "It's drawing me to it. So cold."  
  
Angelus rolled his eyes and placed his hands on hers. "It's real easy, Dru. You just put your fingers under the wrapping and pull. It comes right off."  
  
The ocean forgotten, Drusilla smiled widely. "Like skin! Just a little tug and you get to see what's hidden underneath." She prodded at a flap of brown paper with one slim digit, then ripped upwards, giggling as it tore. With the finesse of a child on a holiday, she ravaged the paper with her sharp fingernails. When all of the brown wrapping lay on the floor in small strips and only the plain box remained, Angelus took it from her hands, ignoring her upset whimper.  
  
He dug his thumb under the cardboard flap, lifting it up and tilting the contents of the box into his palm. They both watched as a small, white glass ball fell into his hand. Dru stared at it, surprise written all over her face.  
  
"It's so . . ." she trailed off, for the first time in her life at a loss for words.  
  
"Fake," Angelus finished, glaring at it angrily, "The Lithadian Orb, mystical weapon of the greatest warriors, endowed with the power to curse the undead . . ." he gave a wholly unpleasant chuckle, "Is not this. It's not this fucking trinket!" With a disgusted look, he flung the small item to the floor, where it landed with a dull thud. Drusilla watched him quietly, then turned her gaze to the fallen orb.  
  
"I should have known," he chastised himself, pacing back and forth angrily, "Never to trust demons. They'll always screw you, always! And now . . . now all this planning has been for nothing! Fuck!" he growled, "Now I can't even torture him for lying to me!" With an anguished bellow, he kicked the corpse of the demon lying on the ground, stiffening slowly. "I'm starting to think that -"  
  
"Daddy," Drusilla cut him off, meekly, her eyes glued to the item on the floor.  
  
"What is it, Dru?" he asked, a vicious edge to his voice.  
  
"Look," she said, pointing at the orb on the floor. The small piece of glass had begun glowing a bright blue, the light growing in intensity and illuminating the room. His rant forgotten, Angelus bent down to examine it. As it continued glowing, a grin slowly grew on his face.  
  
"Well that's more like it!" he said, picking it up in his hand and running his fingers over the smooth surface. "Guess I was wrong about you." He walked over to the corpse and patted it on the back in a friendly manner, "This is great!" Angelus turned to Dru, pulling her into a quick embrace, "Finally things are going my way!"  
  
When he noticed that she hadn't reacted, he pulled away, a questioning expression on his face. "Dru?"  
  
She continued to stare into the orb, watching the glowing blue beam with intense fascination. "So effulgent," she said, her voice low and reverent. She plucked the orb from his hands and looked at it, lovingly.  
  
"What are you hiding from us?"  
  
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To be Continued.... (soon) 


	7. Hero

Feedback: Please. It keeps me writing.  
  
Pairing: B/S  
  
Author's Note: Sorry if this chapter took a little long; I was suffering from major writer's block. If the ending to this chappie seems a little off, it's because I had to split it into two parts - it was getting way too long.  
  
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The branches of a massive oak tree rustled as a flurry of creatures fled from the leafy abode. Birds of all types took flight; robins, jays, and canaries dotted the sky in a myriad of color. The faint rustling of leaves greeted the night as the animals left to find a more secure shelter, away from that horrid, grating noise. All their natural instincts told them to run; that no thing that made such an ungodly sound could bring anything but chaos.  
  
"Did you ever know that you're my hero? You're everything I would like to beeeee . . . and I can something, something eagle, 'cause you are the wind beneath my wings," Buffy sang to herself, a sort of giddy anticipation working its way up her body.  
  
She strolled alongside the road, clutching a stake in one hand and a cross in the other, thoughts of love and redemption and vamp dust filling her head. A full moon hung lazily in the sky, shedding a dim, golden haze over her face. Somewhere far away, a wolf howled. Buffy sighed contentedly. A night like this, a perfect, glorious night, just made her want to kill something.  
  
A rustling in a nearby tree caught her attention, and Buffy whipped her head around, just in time to see a swarm of miniscule creatures fleeing their protective habitat. A small flock of birds took flight; she had to duck as they swooped over her head. And as suddenly as they had left, so did the noise. The rustling nearly ceased, the animals were long gone, and Buffy was left in their wake, still holding a stake, a tune still on her lips. She blinked a few times, trying to grasp the situation.  
  
"O-kay. That was about an eight on the weird-o-meter. Come back guys," she called out into the night, "What do you have against that song? What does -everyone- have against that song?!"  
  
After a quick pause, Buffy continued on her way. A bunch of birds and squirrels running from her singing was certainly odd, but it wasn't something to worry about. She knew that she was no Whitney Houston, but she didn't think she was -that- bad. 'Hmm . . . good thing I'm the Chosen. Otherwise I might have tried to pursue a career in music.' The thought gave her the willies.  
  
The wrought-iron gates of the cemetery loomed ahead of Buffy, and a jolt of adrenaline rushed through her system. Her thoughts came rapidly and had a sort of giddy, idiotic, disjointed feel to them. 'Spike. Patrolling. Patrolling with Spike. In the cemetery. This cemetery. With Spike.'  
  
She pushed the thoughts aside as she came to the entrance of the cemetery, to the rusted gates. Buffy eyed the heavy padlock that held the gates shut, and judged it to be a fairly recent model. She figured that she could break it with one swift kick, but a pang of guilt wormed its way into her stomach. She knew why that lock had been replaced - she had broken the last one. And the one before that. And countless other locks on countless other cemetery gates, causing the city money to replace them every time. It was a fine example of her tax dollars at work, and she knew it would be wrong to break it again. Her tax dollars were supposed to go to fund important things, like education for children or a private swimming pool for the mayor, not padlocks. Buffy decided that she wasn't really in a kicking mood.  
  
Besides, it was rarely fun when the thing you were beating up didn't fight back.  
  
Buffy stepped back to get a good look at the gate. Through years of precision training she had gotten pretty good at guessing the height of things; you never knew when you would be fighting a twenty-foot tall demon, and you had to know where to stab. A sword through the groin in certainly painful, but usually not lethal; she had to know where to land a deathblow. Her very life depended on it.  
  
Further scrutiny confirmed her first estimation of fifteen feet. Not too tall, but not a walk in the park, either. For the life of her, Buffy couldn't figure out why the cemeteries in Sunnydale had such large gates. It could hardly be for protection from vandals - they could just break the lock as she had so many times. Maybe it was just for show . . . ?  
  
Taking a few steps back, Buffy crouched low, placing her hands to either side of her and tensing her muscles. In one deft move, she leapt from the sodden turf, propelling herself over the gate and onto the cemetery lawn, where she landed solidly on her feet. Spreading her arms out to her sides like a gymnast, a small grin crept across her face. Sometimes having to train days on end with a stuffy look-what-a pain-in-the-ass-I-can-be Watcher wasn't such a bad thing.  
  
"She shoots, she scores," she cheered to herself, taking a small bow.  
  
"And the crowd goes wild."  
  
Her eyes growing wide, Buffy spun around and bumped straight into Spike. Buffy took a few steps backwards, stumbling over a tree root that was sticking up from the ground. With lightening speed, Spike grabbed her by the waist and stopped her from falling, pulling her to her feet.  
  
"Nice form, love. A little shaky on the dismount," he teased, a wicked gleam in his eyes, "Might want to train a little more before you try for the gold, though."  
  
Running a hand through her tousled blonde locks, Buffy found a smile spreading across her face. "Yeah, well, I don't think the Olympics tends to have judges hiding and trying to scare the athletes. You've gotta give me some credit for not staking you on the spot."  
  
"Firstly, I wasn't hiding," he countered, "And second, you wouldn't stake me if you could."  
  
"Okay, fine, you weren't hiding," she admitted, "But you were lurking. Not like there's a huge difference. And what makes you so sure that I wouldn't stake you? I mean, give me one good reason why I -"  
  
He cut her off with a bruising kiss, stopping her mid-sentence with lips and tongue. Buffy reacted with matching urgency, and only drew away when she needed to take a breath. She looked up at him and smiled.  
  
"I asked for a good reason, Spike," she said, sighing, "Not a great one."  
  
Spike reached down to capture her lips once more, but she pushed him away after a few moments. "Nu-uh," Buffy scolded, "No more smooching until the work's done. Remember? We're here to patrol. With the demons and the vamps and the stakes and the 'poof'?"  
  
"Aww, not even for me," Spike asked, a humorous grin on his face, "Not even for the wind beneath your wings?"  
  
Buffy's mouth dropped open and she gaped at him. "You heard me," she squeaked, pushing Spike away with a shaky hand, "What, was it one of those vampiric hearing deals?"  
  
"Please," he scoffed, grinning wider than a Cheshire cat, "I didn't need it. You were singing so bloody loud the entire cemetery could hear your caterwauling. But on the plus side, you scared off all the baddies. Well," he added with a raised eyebrow, "All except one."  
  
"Yeah," she said, an embarrassed flush spreading across her cheeks, "A neutered baddie. So terrifying."  
  
"NOT neutered," he huffed, "Not castrated or impotent or any of those other demeaning sexual terms you're so fond of using. I'm. restricted. Restricted in my killing abilities by a bleeding chip in my head. Have some sympathy."  
  
"I'm sorry that you can't kill innocent people any more, Spike," her voice was thick with sarcasm, "I'm so upset that you can't eat my friends." Buffy rolled her eyes. "So sorry, but if you're looking for sympathy, you'll have to find it elsewhere. Especially since that 'caterwauling' remark." She turned her back to him and folded her arms across her chest in a defiant, childish manner.  
  
Spike walked up behind her and placed his arms around hers, drawing her closer to him. "Aww, come on, pet. I'm sorry; you sounded beautiful. Really. You should be a professional."  
  
"Yeah, just like you should get a tan," she joked. Turning around, Buffy couldn't stop a smile as she saw that Spike was pouting, sticking his lower lip out and looking as adorable as a puppy. A really, really sexy puppy. He let out a small whine, and Buffy felt what anger she had melt away into nothingness.  
  
"All right, I forgive you," she conceded, seeing obvious relief wash over his face, "But only if you promise to be good. We're going to patrol, okay? No more hanky panky until we're through."  
  
"Sounds like a plan."  
  
"Yep. The poorly tacked together plans of mice and men. Or Slayer and vampires."  
  
"Oh no," Spike protested, throwing his hands up in the air, "Don't try and give me credit for this. Not only is it poorly tacked together, it's risky."  
  
"Risky how?" she asked, confused.  
  
"Think about it. Doughboy gets over his injuries, decides to come out and pay you a visit like the genius he is. He sees us together, and you lose your sparkling reputation of never getting involved with vampires. No, wait; there was that one bloke. What was his name? Something poncy." Spike stopped and scratched his chin, looking pensive.  
  
Buffy giggled. "It was Angel. An-gel. Hmm . . . I wonder how he's doing over there in LA. Maybe I should give him a call and tell him to come down here. You know," she added, grinning as Spike's eyes widened comically, "Just to give you a once-over."  
  
"Oh, no," he said, backing away, his voice filled with apprehension, "If I never see that bugger again, it'll be too soon."  
  
"I don't know, Spike," she teased, "I could tell him about us, and I'm sure he'd be down here faster than you can say 'I'm going to kill you for touching her'."  
  
Spike chuckled. "Not sure that he'd use those many words. Probably'd be more like: 'Me kill. You die now.'"  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes. "He's not Frankenstein."  
  
"Naw, but he's got the same look. I mean, think about. Both of 'em are dead, both have that same vacant expression . . . and I think they shop at the same store."  
  
"What, Monsters R Us?"  
  
"No, the Gap."  
  
Off of her incredulous look, he added, "That place is bloody terrifying. It's like they're raising an army of polo-clad minions."  
  
"Hey," Buffy said, defensively, "I shop at the Gap!"  
  
Spike eyed her wardrobe, and shook his head. "Not when I'm through with you, you won't."  
  
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To be continued. Soon. I promise. 


	8. Wake Me Up

Disclaimer: No, it's not mine. Quit asking!  
  
Feedback: Yes, ma'am.  
  
Author's note: Sorry if this chappie took a little long, I've been busy with finals and graduation and all that junk. Hope you like.  
  
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'Call my name and  
  
Save me from the dark  
  
Bid my blood to run  
  
Before I come undone  
  
Save me from the nothing I've become.'  
  
'Bring Me To Life' - Evanescence  
  
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Carl pointed at his neck with a practiced ease; the hand-gestures were the funniest bit of all. He had to get this joke right, he just had to. If he didn't, all of his hard work, all of those weeks of brown-nosing would be for naught. Any missteps might cost him his (rightfully earned, in his opinion) place in the group. And he was sick of being a solitary vampire, a lone wolf. It was cool for a while, and a great way to pick up chicks - until they learned that he still slept with some of the dirt from his old gravesite. It wasn't wussy; he didn't care what they said.  
  
On second thought, he did. And that was why this moment was crucial.  
  
"And then I said: no, that was her jugular!"  
  
Carl glanced nervously at the group of vampires surrounding him. He swallowed, wringing his hands together in front of him to stop them from shaking. They weren't laughing. In fact, upon further scrutiny, they looked like they'd enjoy ripping him to pieces more than anything else. He cleared his throat, chuckling awkwardly.  
  
"Um, you see, the jugular wasn't the name of -"  
  
He was cut off by a large hand squeezing his throat and cutting off his windpipe. The muscular hand belonged to Leonard, the leader of this particular gang. He glared at Carl menacingly, digging his fingers into the tender flesh of his neck.  
  
"I heard you the first time," Leonard growled. One of the minions next to him chuckled evilly, folding his hands in front of himself.  
  
"You shouldn't have made him mad," the minion said, a smug grin plastered on his face.  
  
"Shut up," Leonard said, his gaze never wavering from the vampire held in front of him, "I didn't ask for your opinion. Now what do you think I should do to you, Carl?" he asked his prone captive.  
  
Carl squirmed in the tight grasp. "I-I'm sorry," he choked out, "I didn't mean to offend anyone. I'm sorry, Leonard, please give me another chance."  
  
Leonard sunk his fingers into Carl's throat, his eyes narrowing. "How many times do I have to tell you people, it's T-bone now! Leonard was my human name," he huffed.  
  
"T-bone? Like that big, brainless hunk of meat?"  
  
The group of vampires turned at the sound of the calm voice behind them. Leonard's eyes widened and he dropped Carl to the floor in shock.  
  
"Couldn't have come up with a better name myself," Angelus finished, twirling a pool cue between his fingers gracefully, "But then I've never been about titles. Scourge of Europe sounds like such an ego trip; people don't seem to realize that it wasn't my idea. I'm just so . . . Scourge- y."  
  
"Angelus?" Leonard said, taking a few small steps from the leather-clad vampire, "Is that really you?"  
  
"In the flesh," he said, a wide smile spreading his features.  
  
"Wow, it's been ages. What're you up to?" he asked tentatively.  
  
"Oh, you know, ending world peace, destroying Slayers. Actually just one, but she's a bitch to kill. But enough about me - the real question is: how are you, buddy?" In a flash Angelus has invaded his space, one arm wrapped fondly around the other vampire's back as if they were best of friends. Leonard froze - he dared not move for fear of upsetting the master vampire clinging to him. They were both aware of how Angelus was invading his privacy, and just how much he enjoyed it.  
  
"Okay," came the hesitant response, "recently the gang and I have been -"  
  
"That's great, Bony," Angelus drawled, cutting him off, "I was wondering if you would mind doing me a favor." A grin crossed his face as he felt Leonard tense at his words, felt the delicious tremor of fear run down the younger vampire's spine. Fear. God, how he'd missed it.  
  
"Uh, sure," he said, looking up at Angelus with poorly-masked apprehension, "I guess I could do that."  
  
"Great! I knew I could count on you!"  
  
In one deft move, Angelus dropped his grip and drove the pool cue through the hearts of two minions. As the remaining four rushed him, he took them out in a similar fashion, never batting an eye. "Now the thing of it is," he continued, ignoring the stunned look on Leonard's face, "I acquired this nifty little toy, and I really need someone to test it out on. And who comes to mind but the big filet minion."  
  
"What the hell was that," Leonard bellowed, "You just took out six of my best minions!"  
  
"Those were your best?" he asked incredulously, "Well, I guess it makes sense. When you're following someone named after a piece of a cow . . ."  
  
"You can't just come back to town and try something like -"  
  
"Have you ever seen one of these?" Angelus interrupted, holding up a small, glass orb between his fingers, seemingly studying it. "Neat little trinket, if it works like it's supposed to," he continued, "Thing of it is, I've never seen it in action. And that's what I need you for, Lenny - you're going to be my test subject."  
  
"Get away from me," Leonard growled, backing away, "Drop that thing right now, or . . . or you'll pay."  
  
"Whatever you want."  
  
Angelus held his hands up in surrender, and the ball fell about two feet before catching itself. It rose into the air, glowing an otherworldly blue. "Nimphata carneus paralisya," he recited, watching with emphatic glee as an ethereal mist enveloped Leonard, hovering around his body.  
  
Leonard snarled and moved to charge Angelus, but found that his legs would not respond. Wouldn't move. Despite the fact that they seemed altogether dead, they still managed to hold the vampire upright. He balled his hands into fists, a frothy mixture of blood and spittle forming at the corners of his mouth.  
  
"What is this?" he demanded, twisting his body, hoping to escape the mystical bonds.  
  
"Simple paralysis spell," Angelus replied, grinning, "Well, actually, not so simple. Practically irreversible, unless you're into that Hogwarts crap. But by the looks of you, I'm guessing you're not so much into witchcraft as you are screaming and dying. Not that that's not something we've all been looking forward to seeing for a long time now." Angelus turned to Carl, who was lying on the floor looking up at the two of them with wide, startled eyes.  
  
"Isn't that right?"  
  
Carl swallowed thickly, scrambling from his position on the floor and darting for the exit. Before he could make it halfway there, he was stopped by Drusilla's slender form.  
  
"Not time to leave," she whispered, "Not until it's done."  
  
"I have to go," Carl urged her, darting his eyes back to Angelus nervously, "He's going to kill me."  
  
Drusilla placed a slim digit up to his lips to quiet him. "Shush, little mouse," she cooed, "Daddy wouldn't dare harm a hair on your sweet, round head. He needs you to help him. To help our family."  
  
"Oh, God," he murmured, taking a step back from the brunette, "You're one of his minions!"  
  
"Not a minion," she huffed, "His Childe. Minions are dirty things."  
  
Carl bolted for the door, but Drusilla stepped in front of him, catching him in her arms. Turning him around to face Angelus, she twisted his arms back until he cried out. She smiled, moving her lips to his ear. "Just watch," she whispered, "Just look at the pretty pictures. They speak the story so well."  
  
He watched in horror as Leonard squirmed in his place, his eyes wild and desperate. Angelus was presently relaxing on a barstool and viewing the events unfolding with obvious glee. "Are you familiar with the legend of Medusa?" he asked casually. Leonard struggled against the mist, ignoring the question. Angelus continued: "In ancient times, men that looked upon her were supposed to have turned to stone. Don't know how she did it, exactly; maybe she had one of these."  
  
"Y-you're turning me to stone?" Leonard asked, his voice shaky and terrified.  
  
"Hey, maybe you're not as dumb as you look!" Angelus said, caressing the small glass orb in one hand, "All it took was a blatant explanation and you figured it out."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Why not? I had to have someone to try it on, you were just convenient. No hard feelings, I hope." He chuckled, his eyes trailing over the granite that was already covering about three fourths of the vampire's body. "Well, I guess you can't have anything but hard feelings pretty soon."  
  
"Please, don't! I'll do anything!"  
  
"Hmm, tempting . . . but I think I'd rather watch you die."  
  
He turned his gaze to Drusilla, who was watching the scene unfold with childlike excitement. "What do you say, Dru," he asked, "Should I finish this?"  
  
"Yes, Daddy," she said, "Please do. Teach him to be good."  
  
Leonard looked up at Angelus with terrified eyes, but he just smiled apologetically. "Sorry, but the lady gets what the lady wants." He placed the orb on the table in front of him, and it rose once more. "Sinniforium palasidia nocturnum."  
  
A single beam of intense blue shot out from the glass ball and straight into Leonard, covering him with a blinding light. After a few seconds, the light faded, and a granite statue of a vampire was left in its wake. Drusilla let go of Carl and began to clap, hopping up and down with glee. "Do it again, do it again!"  
  
"I will," he promised, getting up from his seat to inspect Leonard, "But later. First, I have to talk to a certain someone." Angelus turned to Carl, a beaming smile on his face. "I need your help."  
  
Carl backed away slowly, his throat dry from fear. "Me? Y-you wouldn't want me. I'm a screw up, I tell bad jokes, and -"  
  
"You're just what I need," Angelus interrupted, his voice calm and deadly, "So I'm going to make you a deal."  
  
"What if I don't take it?" he stammered, "What if I don't?"  
  
Angelus stopped, a scowl creasing his features. In one swift motion, he pushed the stone-Leonard over. Carl flinched as it toppled to the floor, shattering in a million pieces, granite spilling every which way. Angelus smiled.  
  
"Something tells me that you will."  
  
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"Rocky!"  
  
Spike turned to her, eyebrows drawn up in surprise. "Come again?"  
  
"You know, that boxing guy," Buffy explained, curling her hand around a stake, "That's what we remind me of."  
  
"Both of us remind you of one person," Spike said, perplexed, "How does that work, then?"  
  
"We're both fighters that never give up. We're champions," she explained, her voice beaming with pride.  
  
"You don't know how sick I am of that word," Spike said, exasperated, "For the love of Satan, please don't use it to describe me."  
  
"What word?" Buffy asked, "Fighters? Because that's what we do. I fight vampires and you fight . . . vampires, oddly enough."  
  
"No, champion," he replied, the disgust in his voice evident, "Oh, Angel, you're such a champion," Spike said in a high falsetto, "You're my one true champion." His voice came down to its regular pitch. "Give me a soddin' break."  
  
"Okay then, just fighters. Ooh, like Captain America!"  
  
"Not from the states, here, love. And I don't want to be Captain anything. Sounds all fruity to me."  
  
"Fine then," Buffy pouted, "What do you want to be? Commander Britain?"  
  
"Enough with the poncy names," he said, "That's all that you've been talking about for the last half hour!"  
  
"Well, then, you come up with a better way to spend our time patrolling," she huffed, "We haven't seen anything remotely evil in hours."  
  
"I don't know, that shrub over there looks pretty menacing," he joked, "And that tree could be just waiting to take a bite out of you."  
  
"Really?" she asked, curious, "There are tree demons? Maybe I should -"  
  
"Buffy," he said, sighing, "It's just a tree. Look, unless you want to wander the cemetery for another four hours, I think we need to call it a night."  
  
"You're right," Buffy admitted, kicking a rock with her boot, "I know that it's time to call it quits. I just don't want to go home."  
  
"Walk me back to my crypt?" Spike asked, grinning, "Wouldn't let a poor vamp go home alone in the dark like this, would you? Fella could get mugged."  
  
"Maybe I could do that," she said, taking his hand in hers as he led her up the path towards his abode.  
  
They walked in silence for some time before reaching the solid cement structure. Spike was the first to pull from her, and opened the front door tentatively. "Looks like we're here," he said, leaning in to give her a slight kiss on the cheek.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Spike sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Guess you should get going, then. Don't want to keep you from your studies and all that."  
  
"Spike?" Buffy asked, a slight smile playing on her face, "Can I come in for a minute?"  
  
He looked over at her, surprised. "Sure, if you want."  
  
Buffy took his hand and led him into the crypt, her eyes taking in her surroundings and doing her best to keep it stored in her memory. Spike looked at the empty cartons of blood with disgust. "Uh, sorry for the mess," he said, embarrassed, "Didn't know I'd be having company."  
  
"It's okay," Buffy said, dropping his hand and glancing around the room. "Hey, where's the bed?" she asked.  
  
"What?" he started, unsure of what he had heard and what the implications might be.  
  
"You know, the place where you sleep. Is it a coffin, or is that too Hollywood?"  
  
"I'm not bloody Dracula," Spike snorted, "I sleep in a bed, yeah, it's downstairs. Saves space and all that."  
  
Buffy walked over to the hole in the ground, and smiled. "Wow, when you said downstairs, you really weren't kidding." She started down the ladder and Spike followed her carefully.  
  
"Don't trip," he warned as she stepped down to the floor. Buffy spun around and leapt onto the bed, giggling.  
  
"Wow, it's so bouncy," she exclaimed, hopping up and down on the mattress. Spike walked over to her quickly, attempting to steady her with his hand.  
  
"Be careful, love, don't want to break it now," he cautioned, "S'the only bed I got."  
  
Buffy stopped jumping and put on a pouty face. "Okay, I'll stop. But you know what would be better?"  
  
"What's that, pet?"  
  
She grabbed his arm and flipped him onto the bed with her, laughing at the surprise on his face. "If you join me," she finished, grabbing his hand and making him bounce with her. A few minutes later, she collapsed onto the bed in giggles. Spike stopped jumping and laid down, holding her in his arms. Buffy looked up at him and slipped her hands around his head, pulling him down to her for a kiss. After a few minutes she pulled away, panting.  
  
"God, Slayer, you're beautiful," Spike exclaimed. Buffy put two fingers on his lips to quiet him.  
  
"No, not Slayer. No titles, remember? No Chosen One, no vampire . . . just us. Just Spike and Buffy. Can we do that?" she asked quietly, "Can we be ourselves, just for tonight?"  
  
"I was always being myself with you, pet," he replied, smiling, "Didn't know I was supposed to be anything else."  
  
Buffy sighed, stroking the back of his neck with her fingers. "You're not. You're perfect the way you are."  
  
He grinned, leaning in for another kiss. "I can live with that."  
  
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To be Continued . . . 


	9. One Flew Over Acathla's Nest

Disclaimers: I'm poor, ergo, I am not Joss Whedon. So I don't own this.  
  
Feedback: If you feel like it.  
  
Author's Note: Alrighty, here's the next chappy in my 'masterpiece'. Oddly enough, I wrote this one before I wrote chapter eight. After reading over this chapter, I figured that it garnered a prologue, so to speak, and then I wrote 'Wake Me Up'. I'm already working on chapter ten, and trying to figure out how everything is going to go plot-wise. Thanks to everyone that is reading this story - one day I aspire to be a good enough author to get published.  
  
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The alarm buzzed shrilly in her ear, signaling the start of the workweek. A muffled groan escaped her lips as she sat up and grabbed the clock, fumbling blindly for the sleep button. The bell continued to sound, however, and Buffy slammed the alarm against the floor, hard enough to break it despite the carpet that cushioned the blow. The grating noise having ceased, she slumped back into bed and yanked the comforter over her, attempting to block out the light that was pouring into the room at an alarming rate. Buffy clenched her eyes shut.  
  
"Sweetie, it's time to get up!" Joyce's cheerful voice called to her from downstairs.  
  
Buffy groaned, clutching the blankets tighter over her body. No more patrolling two nights in a row, she decided. Every part of her ached, even parts she didn't know existed. 'Damn Spike. Damn him for making me sore, damn him for tearing my new shirt, and damn him for making me want to come back for more.'  
  
A tentative knock came from the other side of the door. When Buffy didn't respond, Joyce opened the door and peeked her head through.  
  
"Glad to see that you're awake," she teased, "And so full of energy, too."  
  
"Go 'way," Buffy mumbled from beneath the covers, "I'm tired and achy and I really don't want to have to do anything. Like, you know, walking, breathing, making vowel sounds."  
  
Joyce pulled back the blankets covering her head, and Buffy moaned in protest, flinging an arm over her eyes to shield herself from the sun. "Mom," she whined, curling up into a fetal position, "what part of 'no living today' didn't you understand?"  
  
"Well, I'm sorry," she replied, taking a seat on the bed, "But you have to get up now."  
  
"Nothing you could say would make me get up out of bed right now."  
  
"There are pancakes waiting for you downstairs, but I guess I'll just have to get rid of them," Joyce said, heading towards the door.  
  
Buffy sat up, a smile on her face. "Did you say breakfast?"  
  
"What part of 'pancakes' didn't you understand?" Joyce said, smiling as Buffy leapt out of bed and hurried to her closet to get dressed.  
  
Buffy threw on a pair of jeans and a plain t-shirt before bounding down the stairs, taking them two at a time. She walked into the kitchen calmly, then sat down at the dining room table. Buffy looked up, and her eyes went wide at what she saw.  
  
On a plate in front of her sat a massive mound of pancakes, flawlessly golden and perfectly round. Her mother was at the kitchen counter, pouring some fresh-squeezed orange juice from a crystal decanter into two wine glasses. Buffy looked up at Joyce, confused.  
  
"Mom?"  
  
Her mother turned around, holding out the two glasses filled to the brim with juice. She set them down on the dining room table, then took out a lighter and lit two candles in the middle of it. Buffy looked around at the kitchen, and saw that the dishes that had once congested the sink had disappeared. More than that, her mother was wearing an evening gown. At breakfast. Very strange, indeed.  
  
"Hello, Buffy. I hope you've worked up an appetite," her voice was filled with sunny cheer, "It was so sweet of you to make breakfast this morning."  
  
Buffy shook her head. "But I thought you said -"  
  
"This is all here because of you," she swept her arm in front of her like Vanna White, indicating the food on the table, "Now aren't you proud?"  
  
"What's going on? I'm really -"  
  
"Come on now, Buffy, chat time later. Right now you've got to get to school. Don't want to miss cheerleading tryouts."  
  
Buffy looked down at her outfit. She was dressed in her old Sunnydale Razorbacks cheerleading uniform, complete with pom-poms and pigtails. 'Flashback to high school - Sunnydale style,' she thought, 'Am I the only one that sees the uber weird in this?'  
  
"Look, mom, not that I'm not grateful or anything, but this is kinda getting a little Twilight Zone-y for me, so I'm just gonna head out, okay?"  
  
"Oh, no, young lady, you're going to sit here and have your breakfast," Joyce reprimanded, "There were too many pancakes for your friends to eat, so you're just going to have to finish them off."  
  
Buffy prodded the breakfast food with one fork, before cutting a piece off. Raising it up to her lips, she recoiled when she saw a maggot squirming inside the pancake - alive despite having been baked with the batter. She dropped the fork out of shock, a sharp clang resounding throughout the room as it fell to the floor. Glancing out at the food in front of her, she gasped at what she saw.  
  
Everything was rotten. The pancakes were lumpy, malformed gray masses of dough, teeming with insect life. The juice was moldy and fetid - a clumpy, dusky-orange color. Crimson puddles of wax were cooling on the lacey tablecloth from long burnt-out candles.  
  
Pushing back her chair, Buffy leapt to her feet and took a few steps backwards, away from the banquet of horrors. Her mom dropped the dishrag she had been holding onto the floor, and turned around.  
  
Joyce's normally pretty face was a hideous mass of decaying flesh. One eye was weeping yellow fluid and the other was missing altogether; a flap of skin and muscle had been torn away to reveal ivory bone; her smile had been increased with the use of the knife - she had been cut ear to ear. She grinned, and the muscle of her cheeks was revealed along with rows of gleaming teeth. Joyce tilted her head as if in confusion.  
  
"I knew this would happen. You make a mess of things then you never want to take care of it. Your friends tried, they really did," her voice was cold and bitter, "We tried to fix it for you, but there was too much. And now you have to eat your fill. You made it, Buffy. Now take care of it."  
  
"Mom," she whispered, backing away from the advancing corpse, "Mom, what's wrong with you?"  
  
"You made it, you stupid bitch," Joyce shrieked, her mouth twisted into a grimace, "You made it, and now you have to pay the price! I did."  
  
With a sob, Buffy pushed past her mother and ran towards the front door, clawing at the doorknob with desperate urgency. She felt the lock release and with a great sense of relief, she ran out into the night.  
  
And straight into Willow and Xander.  
  
It wasn't so much the impact as it was surprise that sent Buffy reeling back onto the sodden earth of the cemetery. Xander kneeled down and offered her a hand, which Buffy graciously accepted, using the counterbalance to pull herself to her feet.  
  
"Where are we?" she asked, dusting herself off.  
  
"You don't remember?" Willow asked, her voice filled with extreme sadness, "We have unfinished business."  
  
"Well I know that college loans can be a pain in the ass to repay, but . . ." she trailed off, taking in her friends' strange, all-black attire.  
  
"What's with the new look," she wondered aloud, "Are you going to become mimes or something? 'Cause then I'll really have to rethink our whole friendship," she joked, nervously.  
  
Xander looked over at her with somber eyes. "I don't know why you can't remember," he muttered, "You did do this, after all."  
  
"Do what," she said, exasperated, "force you to dress like theater majors? Because, really, someone must've wiped my memory or something."  
  
"We've almost arrived," Willow whispered, "When we get there you'll have to be quiet. No one can talk."  
  
"We're going to Giles' place?" she joked. Willow and Xander stared back at her blankly. "Jeez, is this thing on?"  
  
"We're here," Xander said, pulling her over to a crowd of people. Everyone was dressed in similar black, and many of them were crying or looked as if they were about to. Two open coffins sat next to an elderly minister, who was reading from the bible in hushed tones. Buffy's eyebrows rose in surprise.  
  
"A funeral," she whispered, "We're going to a funeral? What is this - Depress the Hell Out of Buffy Day?"  
  
"We're not finished," Xander replied, "We have to keep going."  
  
Buffy stumbled after her friends as they made their way over to the coffins. "Gonna pay your respects?" she asked, swiping a hand through her hair, nervously. She glanced down into the plush interior of the two coffins, but noticed that they were empty. She looked up at Xander and Willow in surprise.  
  
"No one's in there."  
  
"No," Willow agreed, "Not yet."  
  
Buffy watched in horror as her two friends got up into the coffins and laid down, crossing their hands over themselves in a traditional burial manner.  
  
"You can't mean -"  
  
"You did this," Xander muttered, "You did this, you know."  
  
"We can't rest, Buffy," Willow said, "We'll never rest." She looked up at her with watery eyes. "Because of you."  
  
"No," Buffy whispered, staring at her friends lying prone in their burial garb, "No, I didn't do this. I didn't do anything!"  
  
Willow opened her mouth as if to say something, but the coffin lid slammed shut. A split second later, the coffin holding Xander closed as well.  
  
Dull noises from inside the coffin met her ears, and Buffy's blood ran cold. Her friends were trying to get out, scratching at the heavy silk lining the boxes. Buffy scurried to one of the coffins, pulling at the lid, trying to force it open to no avail. She banged on the oak prison, but the wood seemed impossible to break, even with her Slayer strength. The minister stood by, watching her with a cool disinterest. Buffy turned to him, her eyes teary and pleading.  
  
"You have to let them out," she cried, her voice quavering, "They're not dead! You have to help me open the coffins!"  
  
"These people came to see a funeral," the minister turned from her, "And I'm not going to disappoint. They came to see a show, and that's what they're getting."  
  
"But they're still alive," she shouted angrily, grabbing him by the shoulders and jerking him back around to face her, "You can't bury someone when they're not dead!"  
  
"Haven't you learned anything by now, Buff?" The minister turned his face up to look at her. Buffy recoiled. "Because it doesn't look like it," he taunted her, grinning, "Old Rupert must be going soft on your training."  
  
She stared at him with wide eyes, her mouth open and gaping. The elderly man's face had been replaced by one that was all but too familiar - the high, lumpy forehead of a demon, menacing amber eyes, dark hair that had been shellacked in place.  
  
Angelus.  
  
"Don't look so shocked," he said, absentmindedly twirling a rosary around his fingers, "I thought you liked surprises." Angelus looked down at the cross that was resting on his palm, and smiled. "Funny how this thing doesn't hurt," he mused.  
  
"How are you here," she asked in a shaky voice, "Why are you doing this?"  
  
"This," Angelus turned out towards the grieving funeral-goers, "This is just the beginning. Personally, I don't care if you like surprises or not. Cause either way, you're in for a big one, and nothing you can do will stop it. Stop -me-."  
  
"You're wrong," she seethed, her hands clenching into fists, "I sent you to hell before, I can do it again."  
  
"You can believe whatever you like," he said, his voice turning serious, "This isn't Acathla, little girl. It's something bigger."  
  
Buffy turned around at the sound of the mourning funeral crowd shifting. She watched in horror as they got up from their seats, each one of the fifty some-odd people shifting into game face.  
  
"And it's gonna be one hell of a ride."  
  
Buffy watched helplessly as the swarm of vampires advanced on her with lightning speed. Unarmed and alone, she did the only thing that came naturally to her.  
  
She fought back.  
  
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =  
  
"Ow. Ow! OW!"  
  
Buffy kicked and thrashed, landing a bone-crushing punch to his jaw. Spike reeled backwards from the blow, making sure to stay a good distance from the sleepwalking girl.  
  
"Buffy, love," he coaxed, edging away from her, "You have to wake up. You have to come out of it, pet. Now."  
  
She came towards him once again, and he decided that desperate times called for desperate measures. Spike went over to the small refrigerator that sat in the corner and opened it. Scanning the contents, he was dismayed to find only blood and alcohol occupied its shelves. He glanced over his shoulder at the petite blonde who was presently kickboxing dead air, and picked up a large bottle of Jack Daniels.  
  
Unscrewing the lid, he took one last cursory glance at the liquor before pouring a portion of it into a small, plastic cup. Taking aim, Spike held the cup out in front of him and towards Buffy, drawing back his arm and splashing it into her face. 'Hope this does the trick . . .'  
  
Moments after the liquor hit her she spluttered, her eyes flying open. Spike grinned in relief, tossing the cup onto the crypt floor and setting the Jack Daniels on a table for later. "Nice to see you back in the world of the living," he teased, "Well, so to speak."  
  
Buffy looked up at him, bewildered. "Spike?" she asked in a meek voice, "What are you doing here?"  
  
"You're in my crypt," he explained, "We came back here after patrolling. You fell asleep after - "  
  
Buffy's eyes grew wide, and she clutched onto Spike's arm in desperation. "Willow and Xander - where are they?"  
  
Spike looked over at her terrified expression, and cocked an eyebrow in confusion.  
  
"Sleeping, probably."  
  
Her heartbeat slowed and her breathing became steadier as relief swept through her.  
  
"Mom?"  
  
"Probably at home, waiting for you or something. Buffy, what's -"  
  
Buffy relaxed her grip, her eyes narrowing.  
  
"Angelus," she murmured.  
  
"Uh . . . not so sure about that one, pet," Spike replied, "Isn't he kinda banished in Angel and all that?"  
  
"No. He's not. He's back." She looked over at Spike with a haunted, determined look.  
  
"And if we don't stop him, everyone's going to die."  
  
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =  
  
To Be Continued . . .  
  
A/N: Off topic here, but still regarding my stories: I am still working on my season 6 Buffy script, and I hope to get it done by the end of this month or beginning of next. Sadly to say, at least for all us Spuffy lovers, I am actually following the story line (takes place right after Life Serial), so there is no S/B romance. But there's lots of laughs (hopefully), action (hopefully) and good dialogue (hopefully). I'm estimating the final script to be around 50 - 60 pages, which is actual script length, so it should be interesting to read. It's the first time I've ever written anything script-style, so if some of the formatting is done incorrectly, I apologize. Anyhoo, keep an eye out for that late May - early June. Thanks! 


	10. The Dead Rest Easy

Chapter Ten  
  
The Dead Rest Easy  
  
= = = = = = = = = = = = =  
  
"Pants okay?"  
  
"Check."  
  
"Shirt on straight?"  
  
"Check."  
  
"Hair good?"  
  
"Check."  
  
"No . . . underwear all over the place?"  
  
"Mine or yours, love?"  
  
Buffy wrinkled her nose. "Too much information there, Spike. I'm just gonna count that as a check, okay?" She lifted her shirt to her face, inhaling deeply. She frowned. "I don't smell too much like whiskey, do I?"  
  
Spike sniffed the air. "Not to worry," he said with a grin, "I think a little eau de Jack suits you."  
  
She sighed, bending down to retrieve a stake that had rolled under the bed. Her fumbling hands met the firm oak handle of Mr. Pointy and she grasped it hard, shoving it into the black duffle bag she used for patrolling. "I'm just worried what everyone else's going to think. I show up late, my clothes all askew, smelling like booze . . . they're gonna know something's up."  
  
"They won't make the connection," he said, taking the weapons-laden bag from her hands and hoisting it over his shoulder. "If anything, they'll just think you got a little pissed."  
  
"Oh, great. So now I'm drunkard Buffy?"  
  
"Everyone's allowed to let loose now and then, pet. Doesn't make them a drunk." Spike began heading up the stairs and Buffy followed, her steps heavy with reluctance.  
  
"Yeah, but I said patrolling," she explained, climbing the ladder slowly. "I didn't say college party drink-a-thon. I'm the mature one; I'm the one that has to make the right decisions. Which, last time I checked, doesn't include dousing myself in cheap alcohol."  
  
"It wasn't like you had a choice in the matter," Spike said, grasping her hand as she reached the top rung. "And that stuff wasn't cheap."  
  
"Fine then," she grumbled, hoisting herself up to the top landing. "I'm expensive boozy Buffy. Still not the image I'm hoping for."  
  
"If you're so worried about it, you could borrow one of my shirts," he offered, setting the duffle down on a nearby chair, "They're clean. Just did laundry."  
  
Buffy looked at him in disbelief, but he just shrugged. "What? Just 'cause a bloke's dead, doesn't mean he's gotta smell that way."  
  
"You do - where did -" She trailed off, shaking her head. "Never mind. I don't think I want to know. And thanks for the offer, but it wouldn't work. On the off chance that they figure out whose shirt it is . . . let's just say that my newfound love of alcohol would be the least of their worries." Buffy took the bag from the chair, slinging it over her shoulder. "Hopefully a nice, long shower will get me smelling springtime fresh again."  
  
Taking the back of his head in her hands, she ran her fingers through his scalp, tousling his hair. "I had fun last night," Buffy purred, pulling his taut body closer to her.  
  
Spike groaned, removing the hands from behind his head and placing them in a much lower region. "So did I, pet." He leaned forward and buried his face in her neck, laving her soft skin with his tongue. Buffy gasped, and Spike could smell enticing odour of arousal coming off of her in waves.  
  
"Isn't this the part where you say that you're gonna call me?" She asked, gripping the duffle bag tightly.  
  
He pulled back, a lazy grin on his face. "Don't have a phone."  
  
Buffy smiled, giving him a playful shove. "That's always the excuse. Let me guess. You can't see me tomorrow because your grandmother's visiting?"  
  
"Grandmum can sod off, if it means another night with you." Spike took a strand of her flaxen hair and twirled it mindlessly around his index finger, watching as the dim strands of light streaming in through the crypt's windows made the highlights shine. "Shame you can't stay," he sighed. "But I guess you've got to go out and spread the word that the big bad wolf's back in town, probably eating red riding hoods right and left."  
  
"I wish I didn't have to go," she lamented. "But, you know, civic duty and all that. I'll come back tonight, bring any new information I get," Buffy said, kissing him softly on the cheek. "I just hope we can find something. Because, Angelus on the loose? Very much not of the good."  
  
= = = = = = = = = = = = =  
  
Author's Note: Okay, so I know that this chap. ended rather abruptly. Truth is, I'm swamped, haven't updated in fifteen years, and finally managed to get a page out. So here it be. I swear I'll do better from now on. 


End file.
